


Wait For It

by withpractice_ff



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Christmas, Gen, M/M, New Year's Eve, Science Boyfriends, Situationally appropriate kissing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-30
Updated: 2012-12-30
Packaged: 2017-11-22 23:08:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,180
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/615393
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/withpractice_ff/pseuds/withpractice_ff
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Obligatory holiday fic, following the standard formula.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Wait For It

  


* * *

  


Bruce wakes up at 4am, breathless and covered in a thin sheen of sweat. He falls back down onto the pillow and closes his eyes, counting out the space between his heartbeats until the rhythm slows to something less dangerous. Then he rolls over and tries hard to think of nothing at all, hoping sleep will come for him quickly.

After an hour, he accepts that it’s not happening for him tonight and rolls out of bed. He makes his way down to the lab in an undershirt and yesterday’s slacks, expecting that--running on about three hours of sleep--he’ll probably crash again well before noon; it just doesn’t seem worth the effort to get properly dressed.

He’s not surprised when, stepping out of the elevator, he finds the lights already on and “Thunderstruck” blasting over the sound system. He is surprised to find Tony Stark at the top of a ladder, cursing at an apparently obstinate string of garland, the floor around him littered with blinking strands of lights and oversized plastic gingerbread men.

“Um.”

“Bruce!” Tony’s voice pitches and his eyes go wide, clearly startled by Bruce’s presence. “You’re awake.”

Bruce nods, taking a sip of the steaming coffee in his hands and raising his eyebrows at Tony over the rim of the mug. He’s curious, sure, but it’s more fun to let Tony squirm a bit first.

“Uh, surprise?” Tony mutes the music and angles his body toward Bruce as much as he can from the top rung. The metallic red garland he’d been stringing up over the spectrometer falls uncooperatively to the ground. “Oh for fuck’s sake.”

“You want some help with that?” Bruce offers, abandoning his mug of black on a nearby counter and wading into the mess of decorations covering at least a quarter of their lab space.

“Do you ever actually sleep?” Tony mutters. Bruce passes the garland back up and Tony balks for a second, but then he grimaces and gingerly takes it from Bruce’s hands. “Ruining my surprise _and_ handing me things? You are the worst.”

Bruce shrugs, holding the ladder still while Tony fights with the garland some more. “So, why exactly are you decorating my lab at five in the morning?”

“ _Our_ lab,” Tony corrects automatically, “and I think I’ve already said like twenty times that it was supposed to be a surprise.”

“Because I’ve got a history of enjoying surprises.”

“I have it on good authority that Jolly Green is a big fan of Christmas.” Bruce snorts, and Tony continues, “And you’re what, Catholic? You seem like a Catholic.”

“Atheist, actually”--Tony makes a hum of approval--”though I was raised Catholic, yes.”

“Few things hotter than a lapsed Catholic, Brucie.”

Bruce groans and lets go of the ladder, moving to examine some of the garish decorations within his direct line of sight. He’s particularly enamored with the robotic four-foot Santa in the corner that he’s willing to bet is motion activated. He’s not going to go over there and find out, though.

“I think you might have gone a little overboard here.”

“Well, I’ve never personally decorated for Christmas before,” Tony says, making his way down the ladder. “I’ll admit that I may have overdone it a little in my enthusiasm.”

As soon as he’s got both feet on the floor, the garland comes loose and follows him down.

“Jesus fucking Christ, I am not getting back up on that fucking ladder. Remind me in the future that I have people I can pay to do this shit for me.”

Bruce watches Tony balling up the garland with exaggerated irritation, and he smiles, letting himself feel the warmth that’s been building in his chest since he stepped into the lab. “It was a very sweet gesture, Tony. Thank you.”

“Don’t thank me yet,” Tony says, a sudden smile breaking out across his face. “You haven’t seen your gift yet.”

Now Bruce frowns. “Gift? Tony, I thought I told you--”

“Yes, yes, but you really expected me to listen?”

“Hope springs eternal.”

Tony’s smile widens, and he bends down to root through one of the many boxes obscuring the floor. He stands triumphant with a wrapped package that rests neatly across one open hand. Bruce breathes a little sigh of relief that the box isn’t the right shape for jewelry.

“Well?”

“I didn’t get you anything,” Bruce says, taking the proffered present.

“You are giving me, right now, the precious gift of receiving.” At Bruce’s dubious look, he adds, “And if you really feel strongly about it, you still have”--he glances over at the clock--”just under nineteen shopping hours left. My shoe size is ten, if that’s at all helpful.”

Bruce ignores him, peeling back the tacky Avengers themed wrapping paper--it’s got the five of them wearing Santa hats, for Christ’s sake, and Thor’s holding a giant candy cane instead of his hammer--to reveal a finely detailed Lenox ornament. Of the Hulk.

“You have got to be kidding me,” Bruce mutters, shaking his head. Tony watches him carefully, trying to gauge whether or not this is the time he’s finally pushed Bruce too far, but then Bruce lets out one of those little puffs of air that Tony now recognizes as a laugh, and he relaxes. Bruce holds the thing up for him to look at and asks, “Do I even want to know how much they’re charging for this bullshit?”

“Hey, all proceeds go to charity and shady international security networks. Now come on, lets reunite the big guy with the rest of the team, shall we?”

Before Bruce can reply, Tony’s grabbed him by the wrist and is pulling him deeper into the lab. Bruce takes a moment to mourn his poor abandoned coffee, probably lukewarm by now, and Tony leads him deeper still, around the corner to where an absolutely massive Douglas fir is blocking access to the particle accelerator. It’s already festooned with ornaments fashioned out of test tubes and beakers, as well as an absurd number of decorations in the likeness of the Other Guy and the rest of the team. There’s no way all of them are officially licensed.

“I saved you a spot,” Tony says, guiding Bruce closer to the tree. And indeed he has, a patch of unadorned green still available near the top of the tree, nestled between two different Lenox versions of Iron Man. Bruce obliges, tucking his gift into the branches.

“And done!” Tony declares with an air of finality, hands on his hips. Then he takes a second to look around, and even here the lab is strewn with tangles of multi-colored lights and half-constructed gingerbread houses. He looks over at Bruce and suggests, “What say you and I go get some breakfast while someone else cleans this mess up?”

“I was kind of enjoying watching your defeat at the hands of the mighty garland, but yeah, you could probably convince me.”

Tony rises readily to the challenge. “We can go to Junior’s and split a slice of brownie marble swirl.”

“Cheesecake for breakfast?” Bruce raises a hand to his chin, pretending to think it over. “Get your own slice and you’ve got a deal, Mr. Stark.”

  


* * *

  


“Bruce.”

Bruce looks up at his uninvited guest, and Christ, it just had to be Pepper, didn’t it? This is over already.

“Merry Christmas,” he offers, and it comes out a little bit like a question.

“Merry Christmas,” she replies smoothly, and Bruce feels that her approach can really only be described as predatory as she makes her way toward him. “I thought you’d forgotten. In fact, I’m going to have to assume that you’ve only just remembered, because I know my dear friend Bruce wouldn’t leave me alone at a dinner with Tony Stark, on Christmas of all days.”

“Technically, I didn’t leave you alone,” he tries, pushing his glasses further up his nose.

“Rhodey’s wrapped up in his new special friend, Happy’s spent the last twenty minutes on the phone with his mother, and Steve can barely corral Tony on the best of days, so yes, you actually did leave me alone.”

“I’ll, uh, just save my notes and come right up?”

“If you’re not there in ten minutes, I’m going to let Tony drink as much eggnog as he wants and let you deal with the consequences.”

“You are terrifying,” Bruce complains, and Pepper’s smile is all teeth.

  


* * *

  


“So don’t think I don’t know that you let Pepper talk you into joining us tonight,” Tony accuses, poking Bruce in the shoulder. Their little holiday gathering broke up about an hour ago, and now it’s just the two of them on Tony’s couch, looking out at the New York skyline and passing a bottle of Merlot between them. “I’m supposed to be the one who is able to successfully cajole you into things.”

“I wouldn’t say she cajoled so much as threatened,” Bruce clarifies. “She can be pretty scary when she puts her mind to it.”

“Amen to that,” Tony says, tipping the bottle forward in a parody of a toast before bringing it to his lips. Bruce lets himself watch Tony’s throat work as he swallows, because he’s a little drunk, and because he’s feeling warm where Tony’s arm is pressed against his own. After a moment, Tony asks, “Why did this particular evening require Pepper’s special brand of coercion?”

Bruce shrugs half-heartedly, stealing the bottle from Tony and taking a long sip of his own before answering. “I don’t necessarily have the best memories associated with this time of year.”

Tony nods, then shifts down so his head is resting against Bruce’s shoulder. “So you make some new memories, then.”

Bruce sighs, letting the air come out of him slowly. “It’s not always that easy, Tony.”

“Sometimes it is, though. I mean, you can’t tell me you didn’t have a nice night once you finally got your ass out of the lab.”

“That’s- that’s true,” Bruce concedes, somewhat begrudgingly. 

“So?”

Bruce takes another swig of Merlot, and he thinks of finding Tony in the lab yesterday morning, standing on that ladder and surrounded by the world’s tackiest Christmas decorations. For him.

“So, sometimes it is that easy, I guess.”

“Oh!” Tony says suddenly, jumping off of the couch. “I almost forgot!”

He disappears down the hall, then reappears a moment later with an ornately wrapped present. Bruce groans.

“Tony--” he starts, but Tony immediately cuts him off.

“The proper response to a gift, Dr. Banner, is gratitude. Say ‘Thank you, Tony.’”

“Thank you, Tony,” Bruce parrots obediently, setting the bottle of Merlot down at his feet so he can receive the box as Tony hands it to him. It’s wrapped neatly in tasteful gold and silver paper, fastened with gold ribbon tied into a fairly complicated looking bow at its center.

“Say ‘You look incredibly handsome tonight, Tony.’”

Bruce looks up at him with a raised eyebrow, and Tony grins as he sinks back into his seat on the couch.

“Well?” Tony prompts. “Go on, open it.”

Bruce tries an experimental tug on the bow and it pulls away easily, the ribbon falling to the floor at his feet. He rips the paper back to reveal the silver letters of _Armani_ printed across a black box.

“Tony,” he says disapprovingly.

“Just open it, Banner.”

Bruce lets out a snort of disapproval but he obeys, opening the box and pulling out the two piece charcoal suit. The fabric is heaven between his fingers and he can only imagine what it cost.

“Tony,” he says again, putting a lot divergent feelings into that one word.

“You’re welcome,” Tony says helpfully.

“What’s the catch?” Bruce asks, though he’s not positive there is one until Tony does his wide-eyed and innocent routine.

“What catch? There is no catch.”

“When have you ever seen me wear a suit?”

“Never,” Tony agrees readily. “But I’d like to. I bet you cut a fine figure, Dr. Banner.”

“Mmhm,” Bruce hums, unconvinced. “And where, exactly, would you like to see me in this suit?”

Tony’s grin is wolfish, and Bruce realizes belatedly that he’s lobbed Tony a softball. Bruce preemptively rolls his eyes and Tony says, “I’ll let that one slide, because I like you. And because it’s too easy.”

“He just gives and gives, ladies and gentlemen. Don’t change the subject.”

Tony’s still grinning, but his eyes go shady, sliding away. “I was thinking maybe you could be my date to the New Year’s Eve party.”

“Aha!” Bruce exclaims. And then when Tony looks at him expectantly, he adds, “And no.”

“No?” Tony repeats, incredulous. “Just like that? No?”

“You know I hate parties.”

“The whole gang’s going to be there,” Tony presses. “When was the last time you saw Thor?”

It’s been a while, Bruce has to admit, but, “He’ll be in town the entire week, I think we’ll have time enough to catch up.”

“You know, technically, it’s a company event,” Tony says, trying another angle. “And you are technically under the employ of Stark Industries. You know how much I hate playing the boss card--”

“Do I?”

“--but I could be moved to play it here.”

“You know, I think forcing an employee to go to a company party as your date might qualify as sexual harassment.”

“You know, I seem to recall getting you not one but _two_ separate Christmas presents and getting not a single thing in return.”

“What happened to the gift of receiving?” Bruce asks, trying hard to stay on the offensive here.

“The gift of receiving involves a certain amount of gratitude that, frankly, I have yet to see.”

And that-- that is possibly true, Bruce realizes all at once, feeling a heavy knot of guilt forming in the pit of his stomach. “Tony, I--”

Tony flaps his hands, waving away whatever self-deprecating thing Bruce is about to say. “It’s a strange time of year, I’ve undoubtedly pulled much worse, yadda yadda yadda. The point is, absolutely all I want for Christmas is for you to put on that suit and come to the party with me.” He looks over at Bruce, meeting the other man’s eyes. “Please?”

“I-- I _am_ grateful, Tony. This is the best Christmas I’ve had in-- ever, maybe.”

“I had a pretty good one when I was eight; my nanny got me the final part I needed to finish building my first RC plane, and then later that day I flew it into the twenty pound turkey we were supposed to have for dinner. But this year’s definitely in my top five.”

Bruce picks up the Merlot and leans into Tony, bumping their shoulders together. “I’ll go to your damn party.”

“Top three,” Tony amends, then leans over to pluck the bottle of wine from Bruce’s hands.

  


* * *

  


“You need some help in there?” Tony calls, leaning against the door to Bruce’s bedroom. “Need me to do your tie?”

Tony hears Bruce sigh on the other side of the wood, then the sound of Bruce’s hand on the knob, so he skips back from the door before it’s pulled out from under him.

“Well?” Bruce asks, stepping into the hall and spreading his arms wide. 

The suit fits him perfectly, highlighting his broad shoulders and accentuating the subtle curve of his hip. Tony has a split second of speechlessness before putting on his most charming smile and stepping into Bruce’s personal space. He runs his hands down Bruce arms, guiding them gently back to his sides, then lets his fingers trail slowly over Bruce’s lapels, fidgets unnecessarily with Bruce’s tie.

“Well?” Bruce repeats, a roughness in his voice that Tony finds extremely validating.

Tony looks up at him, resting a hand just under the jacket of Bruce’s suit, near his heart. He can feel its steady beat beneath his palm.

“I’m going to have to cajole you into coming to fancy parties with me more often. You’ve been holding out on me, Doc.”

Anticipation flutters in Bruce’s chest when Tony doesn’t move away, gently curling the fingers of the hand at Bruce’s heart so that they drag lightly across Bruce’s chest, bunching the fabric of his shirt. There is a long, sweet, unbearable moment where Tony is just looking at him, eyes dark and pupils blown, and Bruce is just about to give in, to finally bring to a head this thing that’s been growing between them, when Tony takes a sudden step back. The look Bruce gives him is pure incredulity, and Tony’s answering grin is one of smug self-satisfaction.

“Alright, chop chop,” Tony says, clapping his hands together and turning on his heels. “Wouldn’t want to be late, now would we?”

  


* * *

  


The main hall in Stark Tower has a legal occupancy of one thousand five hundred. Looking at the throngs of people crowding the space, Bruce suspects they might be breaking a fire code or two. It’s a little overwhelming.

“You’ll be fine,” Tony says, breath ghosting against Bruce’s ear. He puts a hand at the small of Bruce’s back and guides him slowly through the crowd. “We’ll find you some friends.”

They’re about halfway through a lap around the perimeter when they spot Clint and Natasha. They both look ridiculously hot, Clint in a black shirt and tie combo with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows and Natasha in a show-stopping floor-length number in red that invitingly clings to her curves. Tony lets out a low whistle.

“We should definitely try to take them home tonight,” he says, not bothering to lower his voice as they approach. Clint’s shit-eating grin and Natasha’s eye roll let Bruce know they heard Tony just fine.

Tony snags two flutes of champagne from the passing maître d', pressing one of the glasses into Bruce’s open palm, and he leaves his hand at the base of Bruce’s spine, splaying his fingers out possessively. Natasha raises a questioning eyebrow at Bruce--which Tony completely misses--and Bruce’s cheeks heat as he shrugs as subtly as possible. She grins back at him and Tony continues to be oblivious.

They make comfortable small talk until Tony makes a lascivious remark about Natasha’s ample bosom and Clint’s rippling forearms. Then he conveniently excuses himself for the bathroom before Natasha can connect her black stilettos with his groin.

“So,” Clint starts, and the shit-eating grin is back. “Are you two boyfriends yet?”

Bruce sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose. “I am too old to have a boyfriend.”

“That’s not a no,” Natasha points out. “Though really, you’re going to have to explain the appeal to me.”

“I’m going to assume he’s really fantastic in bed,” Clint offers. “And hey, even he’s gotta stop talking when there’s a dick in his mouth.”

“Jesus Christ,” Bruce breathes, then downs the rest of his champagne in one desperate gulp. “I would just like to point out that I am not the one who was waxing poetic about your supinators; I did nothing to deserve this.”

“You don’t like my supinators?” Clint baits, and Natasha shakes her head, but she’s smiling.

“I like your supinators just fine,” Bruce mutters, crossing his arms over his chest and looking around for another waiter with booze.

  


* * *

  


“I’ve been making some progress in using the reactor in place of the tesseract,” Jane says. Thor’s looking at her like she’s the most brilliant woman he’s ever met, and hell, Bruce thinks, maybe she is. He and Tony have been trading notes with her remotely off and on for a few weeks now, and the work she’s been doing--before looking over her research, Bruce wouldn’t have thought most of it was even possible. “Don’t tell Tony I said this, but it’s quite an impressive piece of technology.”

Bruce smiles. “Believe me, I wouldn’t dream of it.”

“There you are.”

Bruce turns, and there’s Pepper, looking absolutely breathtaking in a strapless, powder pink dress that flares out prettily at her hips. It’s more overtly feminine than what he’s used to seeing her wear, but she appears as poised and confident as always, and he’s again struck by how beautiful she is.

“You look amazing,” he says, and Thor and Jane voice their agreement.

“I’d better; these shoes are fucking killing me,” she says with a grin. “But thanks. You don’t clean up so bad yourself, mister.”

They chat for a few minutes more about the horrors of women’s footwear before Jane and Bruce get sucked back down the rabbit hole of Science!, and Pepper waits until Thor’s eyes have glazed over with disinterest before she interrupts with a hand on Bruce’s arm, asking him if he’d like to dance.

“Just a warning,” Bruce says as he lets her pull him onto the dance floor, “I am a pretty terrible dancer.”

“I can lead, if you’d like,” she offers, her smile teasing.

“Actually, that might not be a bad idea.”

“Well alright then,” she says, her smile growing even wider, and starts them out with a basic box step. Bruce promptly proceeds to trip over his own feet, then hers, and then his own again, and Pepper can’t even breathe, she is laughing so hard. Which she feels okay about, because Bruce is laughing too.

“I told you,” he says, face red with laughter, and Pepper just shakes her head, pressing her forehead to his shoulder while she tries to compose herself. They end up just swaying back and forth pretty much in place, and it reminds her so much of every high school dance she ever went to that it sets her off all over again.

When she can breathe again, she says, “I promise I’m laughing with you, not at you.”

“Oh, I wouldn’t blame you for laughing _at_ me, but I appreciate the distinction.”

She nods and links her arms around his neck, and it’s nice. She says so out loud, adding, “I’m glad you let Tony talk you into coming out tonight.”

“Why do you two always assume I need to be talked into things?”

“Because you do,” Pepper says kindly, and Bruce doesn’t argue, because it’s true. “It means a lot to him that you’re here.”

“I’m a little concerned that he has something planned, actually.”

Pepper bites her lip, clearly trying to decide if she should spill or not, and decides on, “He does, but I promise you’re going to like it.”

Bruce smirks. “I assume I have you to thank for that?”

“Surprisingly, no, he thought this one up all on his own.”

But before he can press her for any further details, Tony appears out of nowhere, as if they conjured him simply by talking about him.

“Can I cut in?” Tony asks, leering at Pepper. She frowns, and Tony presses a chaste kiss to her cheek before grinning and reaching for Bruce. Irritation and relief play equally across her face for a moment, then she schools her features into a smile.

“You boys have fun,” she says, then whispers conspiratorially to Tony, “Your feet have my sympathy.”

Bruce watches her go a little wistfully, then frowns at Tony. “That wasn’t very nice of you.”

“Nice of _me?_ What about _her?_ I wasn’t the one dancing with my ex-boyfriend’s handsome, ragey lab partner.”

“Her ex-boyfriend’s _date_ ,” Bruce corrects, and Tony grins.

  


* * *

  


At the front of the hall, right above the stage, there is a giant LED clock that has been counting down the hour all night. At just under a minute until midnight, Tony tugs Bruce through a door marked “Authorized Personnel Only.” Seeing as it’s his tower and everything, Bruce assumes Tony is authorized and allows himself to be tugged.

“Tony, what are you--” Bruce starts, but the words die on his lips when he sees that Tony has led him out to a small balcony done up with twinkling golden lights and bouquets of white roses. Overlooking the cityscape is a table for two with champagne on ice and two glasses already poured.

“Well?” Tony prompts, when Bruce has been silent long enough to start making him nervous.

“This is much more romantic than I expected,” Bruce says, but his voice cracks a little and he knows he’s wearing an absolutely idiotic grin.

“Well, I thought you deserved a little romance.” He steps into Bruce’s personal space and wraps an arm around his waist. “Don’t get too accustomed to it, it’s generally not my style.”

Bruce slides his hands up Tony’s chest, letting himself _touch_ , the way he’s wanted to for months. “You’re going to make me wait until midnight, aren’t you?”

“Yeah, but we’ve only got fifteen more seconds, so I think you can handle it.”

At ten seconds left, they can hear the guests inside start counting down. Bruce brings a hand up to rest against the back of Tony’s neck, thumb tracing his hairline, and Tony shivers as he tips their foreheads together. At three seconds left, Tony whispers, “Fuck it,” and brings their lips together. It is as sweet as Bruce imagined and absolutely worth the wait.


End file.
